


Mulder, Scully and Diana Fucking Fowley

by Sarie_Fairy



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Episode: s05e04 The End, Episode: s06e01 The Beginning, Episode: s06e18 Milagro, F/M, Fight the Future, Kissing, Love, MSR, Mulder and Scully with others is mentioned but without much detail, Oral Sex, RST, Season 6 from The Beginning through to Milagro, This is only about MSR as OTP, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23848822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarie_Fairy/pseuds/Sarie_Fairy
Summary: Mulder and Scully had finally found their stride again. Their equilibrium. Their simpatico. It was too good to be true for these two. For some reason, they could never be too happy for too long. Cue a ghost from Mulder's past to come in and fuck that shit up.This story weaves from Season 5, Episode 20, The End, across Fight the Future and then Season 6 from episode 1, The Beginning through to Episode 18, Milagro.(No beta, this one came down to the wire).The dialogue from "The End" was written by Chris Carter
Relationships: Dana Scully/Other(s), Diana Fowley/Fox Mulder, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 57
Kudos: 166
Collections: X-Files Angst Fanfic Exchange (2020)





	Mulder, Scully and Diana Fucking Fowley

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greekowl87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greekowl87/gifts).



> This story is for Kelly who requested some Diana angst. I loved this prompt. And had a lot of fun with it.
> 
> Thank you to Nicole (OnlyTheInevitable) and everyone from admin. You guys rock.

The door banged in its frame as he pushed Scully’s back up against it. His lips on hers. It had been so long since anyone had kissed her. Since she had felt the weight of a man against her body. She opened her mouth and allowed the kiss to move to passion. Greeted his tongue, stroking it with her own. A warmth curled low within her; dampened her underwear.

She was well aware that her arousal came from the physical sensations; his deft hands, fingers dipping low, caressing the top of her arse, and the feeling of a mouth on hers - resuscitating that part of herself ignored for so long. From his undeniable erection, pressing purposely into her hip, she felt desired. It was intoxicating. Not enough for her to invite him inside, though.

She tenderly pushed him back. Broke the kiss.

“I had a really nice time tonight,” she told him, aware that she sounded like a script from so many romantic films. Bad romantic films, probably.

“So did I. Really, really great time.” He replied with a megawatt grin, stroking some hair from her brow, which immediately crinkled beneath.

“Can I call you?” he asked. Scully was pleased he had picked up that she would not be inviting him inside.

“Yes. Of course,” she faltered, out of politeness, hoped he hadn’t noticed her hesitation. She felt around for the doorknob behind her back and twisted it, cracking the door opened.

“Thank you for finally saying yes, Dana. I don’t know what made you change your mind, but I’m sure glad you did.”

She replied with a smile.

He leaned in for one more kiss, which she turned into a peck, pulling back. “Goodnight, Carl.”

“Night Dana. I’ll call you.”

She disappeared inside as he lingered. Clicked and locked her door.

…

You always hurt the ones you love. Someone said that once in a film or book or fucking sonnet. Scully and Mulder. They hurt one another. Not on purpose. Not really. Their motive wasn’t malice. Sometimes it was thoughtlessness. Sometimes anger. And we all know what sits just under the surface of anger, don’t we? Fear. And the fear here? They were both afraid of the same thing. Their love, seemingly unrequited, for the other. Their jealously at perceived betrayals, an extension of that love. What a tangled web we weave. That was in a book, too, surely. These two were world-class at tangling a web.

It’s how they got here:

“Scully?” He grabbed her hand.

All she wanted was to leave. To get away from him. Or herself? The truth?

“Tell me, Scully,” he implored, just as her fingers slipped from his and she hastened to his door. “What did he mean,” he called after her, “ _‘Agent Scully is already in love_ ’?”

…

Several events took place for that moment to happen - for Fox Mulder to ask that very direct question of his FBI partner Dana Scully, while roughly grabbing her hand. When tracing a moment back through time, one could always go back to the very beginning, because these things always start at the beginning, don’t they? This is not that story. Who has the time?

This tale began when those two federal agents happened upon a little boy who could read minds _(apparently)_. Happened, as things would have it, upon another someone too. Someone Agent Mulder did not want thrust upon his partner without a chance to explain who this other someone was, and who she was to him. So, he tried very hard to act cool. To behave as if omitting to mention that person to Scully was not a purposeful oversight.

Mulder’s failure to ever once mention Diana Fowley meant that Scully had to confirm, with the woman herself, that they had known one another. It made Scully feel like shit. Of course it did. It was the first taste, in a long while, of being kept in the dark about something - further confirmed by the looks they were giving one another in the rear vision mirror of a shared car ride. Diana explained, somewhat tight-lipped, to Scully that the reason she was there, was that she had things to come back to. _Mulder to come back to_ , Scully decided in her suspicious mind. 

Scully uncovered a clearer picture of Diana and Mulder’s past from the Lone Gunman. She learnt Diana was Mulder’s “chickadee” back when he first left the academy. And that she was “good looking,” _(fuck Frohike, why did you have to add that detail?)_. And that Diana was with Mulder when they discovered the X-Files. They discovered the X-Files. Yep, that was undoubtedly information Scully thought should have cropped up, at some point, in Mulder and her six-year history on the _fucking X-FILES_! Lastly, a ponder from Byers as to why they broke up. Scully was wondering the same goddam thing. More, why they were ever together.

Scully had somehow determined that Mulder had sworn off women. Very early in their partnership, she met an ex of his - an attractive British agent from Scotland Yard, with a predilection for tormenting cute American psychology students. Mulder had confided that the relationship had been disastrous, damaging actually, and Scully had decided that it had been his last romantic one. She hadn’t ever confirmed that detail, but the longer they knew one another, and he remained single, the more comfortable she became with her made-up history for him. It suited her. Even though she knew she loved him, her heart felt safe with the knowledge, that if not her, no-one.

Scully left the Gunmen’s headquarters, and them with a job to investigate MRI images of the brain of Gibson, the child who could read minds. Told them she had to run an errand and would be back in a few hours to hear their findings.

Once in her car, her breath hitched, and tears began to fall. She hated the feelings starting to brim. She thought she was doing an excellent job of denying her feelings for Mulder. Only ever allowing herself a few minutes indulgence at night, alone in her bed. _(Well, alone with her vibrator and a well-worn photo of him kept in her bedside table.)_ She swiped at her face as she drove to a gas station to procure a packet of reckless cigarettes.

She found herself in a lonely park, on a bench by her packed car, smoking her second when betrayal began to settle in her heart as to the origin of her emotions. Though, there was nothing she could completely grab onto to justify her anger at _him_. So, she turned it on herself.

They had gotten so close during her fight with cancer - but once they’d won that battle, he pulled away. She never understood why. Since then, though, they had found their stride, and Scully a way to work with him and ignore her feelings. It went nicely as a twin set with her avoidance at wanting a normal life. To have a husband, adopt some kids, have a family. Have more than her passion for her work and chasing monsters.

She told herself to get it together. To stop taking things so personally. There was a fascinating case at hand, and she needed to focus on that. Focus on the work. The cigarettes and her pep talk had helped with her nerves, so she made her way back to collect the results from the ‘boys’. Then, feeling more secure that she could keep her personal feelings at bay, she made her way back to the facility where Gibson was currently residing. She strode down the hall, eager to show Mulder what she had found. As she looked through the window to the anti-room Mulder was in, her heart stopped. That’s what it felt like. That her heart had stopped beating. Thankfully, her legs kept moving.

He was in there, holding Diana’s hand. Gazing into Diana’s eyes.

Scully kept walking, then turned on her heel and went back the way she came. Left. Back to her car. Seeing Mulder, like that, holding that woman’s hand was like a slap in the face. Worse. A slap stings momentarily. This pain remained. It was more of a thick cold ache in her heart. She sat in her car, doing her best to push her wretched emotions down.

Then she placed three calls.

“Mulder, it’s me … I’m uh, I’m on my way to work. I was hoping I could show you something – something about the boy…” She called Mulder, told him to meet her at work where she could explain what the Gunmen had uncovered.

After, she phoned Skinner. Asked him to meet her in his office. Told him a little of her discovery, confirmed some other people that he would like to attend her meeting.

Then, she placed one more call…

“Hi … It’s Dana. Hi … um, I just wanted to know if your offer for dinner still stands? –Yeah? – Okay. That works for me. – Um, sure, I’ll text you my address. – See you then. – Okay. – Okay. Bye Carl.”

…

Scully went on her date. She felt seen, could tell Carl was interested in her. He was a fellow pathologist who had asked her out a few times when they’d crossed paths at Quantico. She always had politely declined. The timing of the most recent declination had been two days before she witnessed Mulder and Diana. Together. So, she called him and said yes. A snap decision to get on with a life - beyond Mulder. At least adjacent to him.

She had a pleasant enough time on her date. And when Carl leaned in to kiss her, she had Mulder on her mind. Mulder - _gazing at Diana_. Mulder - _holding Diana’s hand_. So, she let Carl kiss her, and she kissed him back. Some kind of strange feeling burned within when it happened. Similar to how she first felt when one of her married med school professors had kissed her, in his office, up against the wall. A sense that she shouldn’t be doing it. Back then, even though she wasn’t the one cheating, she knew her moral compass was spinning as if she were at the north pole. Now though, she pushed those current feelings down, kissed Carl more. Nothing immoral here. She was single. Carl was single.

She thought about letting him inside but didn’t. Ended the kiss and said goodnight. Found herself alone in her bed, frustrated. Her practised routine of vibrator in one hand, a small photo of her handsome partner in the other, couldn’t get her there. She fell into a restless sleep.

…

The case with the boy ended. Not closed as such. Gibson had been kidnapped, Diana had been shot - injured, their basement office burned down. _Could these two ever catch a break?_

The pull they always had on one another meant that fights and animosity would melt away in times of tragedy. Their patterns of needing to protect one another, like a primordial instinct. So that’s what happened. Scully embraced Mulder in the embers of his dying office. Thoughts of Diana and betrayal carried away with the lingering smoke.

The knife twist after finding out that his life’s work had gone up in flames, was that he and Scully were being split up. Reassigned. Then Scully told him she was out - leaving the Bureau.

He was confused. Sad and mad. Upset that she could walk away, give up so easily. He told her many pretty things, poetic even. Something like ‘you complete me’, but not that. And then he leaned in to kiss her.

Scully heard the desperation in his plea. Thought he was sincere, believed him. Would have kissed him back actually, but for an overzealous homing bee. Or was it a robot bee? In any case, she went down.

And then got kidnapped, for the – _oh, who the fuck knows how many times that had happened before._

And Mulder saved her.

Again.

Scully had a lot of time to think, at the research station, recovering for several days in the Antarctic. Then in a US hospital when she returned. Playing Mulder’s words from his hallway over in her head. The flattery, the lure of a kiss. It was heartfelt. But it was not about her; she decided. Most of what he had said was about the X-Files. His mission. That had become hers. If only she had been the subject, not their work, of his hallway proclamations. _If only…_

…

Up until this point, Mulder seems like a single-minded arse. Let’s find some balance to this star-crossed story.

 _He_ didn’t hold Diana’s hand. She held his. It’s a weak distinction, but, a distinction nonetheless.

He pulled away from Scully after her cancer because he had possible, undiagnosed, PTSD. Almost losing the love of his life, without knowing how to explain her that that’s what she was to him. Feeling responsible for her cancer; that he was the cause of her nearly dying, that he robbed her of any chance to bear children. That would fuck anyone up. Make anyone back away from the person they believed they very nearly broke - who also happened to be the most precious thing in the world to them.

He wanted to kiss Scully in his hallway because he loves her. Not because he needs her. 

Here’s how much: He busted out of hospital after Scully was stung and kidnapped; a searing gunshot trail across his forehead. Risked his life to find an alien vaccine (or something), got himself to the south pole, by way of a flight to New Zealand, then a scientist chartered plane ride followed by a hired snowcat. Then, then, he found a gigantic spaceship buried in the snow. _A fucking space ship!_ Climbed inside, found Scully, got chased by creatures, (very arguably alien beings,) somehow got back to a research station. Saved Scully. Brought her home.

After all of that, at an FBI panel to justify those very actions, he turned to Scully, calmly in the knowledge that she would confirm everything. And then she fucked him over.

That’s how he felt. 

Betrayed.

Like going to the literal ends of the fucking Earth for her, wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

So, it felt good when he didn’t have to explain himself to Diana about one of the creatures hiding in a nuclear power plant. He felt drawn to that. Validated. He was sick of having to prove himself over and over again to Scully. To put up with her eye rolls, her 23rd degrees, her raised brows, whenever he gave her his theories and ideas, when in fact he was almost always right. And he NEVER rubbed it in.

Counter, her anger at his expectation that she would change the way she had always operated, ignore a lack of scientific evidence, pissed her off. Especially off the back of his loved-up hallway speech about how much he loved her sciency stuff. How it kept him honest. Then, his seeming loyalty to Diana. Actually, she felt not so much pissed off as desperately sad. Devasted. Deflated. _Why did it feel like her right arm had been cut off?_

The whole thing was turning out to be one very drawn out, weird kind of tennis match. _The most valid reason to be pissed at the other_ ’s ball in whose court now? _Scully’s?_

So, she went out with Carl again. She let him take her home. She let him fuck her. And she fucked him back.

…

They slipped into a routine again. No X-Files, but still partners. More work, less nightly phone calls. No outside-of-work socialising, except on away cases – though the meals they ate together were work right offs, so it didn’t count. They were getting on okay. The question around what their relationship was, had eased off their consciences.

Scully and Carl dated a few more times. He genuinely liked her. Missed her when she was on the road with Mulder. Already had begun to struggle when she cancelled dates to follow Mulder to places like the Bermuda triangle, at a moment’s notice. No notice actually. One weekend Scully promised she would see Carl, but left with Mulder to some classified government site instead. Carl felt compelled to ask her if she ever wanted to stop, to have a life.

It became a pattern. Another ‘non-case’ hook up - Christmas Eve. It was not lost on Scully that a random, vague call from Mulder to meet him somewhere, was an easy invitation to take; an easy reason to ditch Carl. 

After traipsing all over a “haunted house” with Mulder, she found herself back at his place at three in the morning. They had each bought the other a gift - something they both said they wouldn’t do. She wasn’t ready to explore the meaning of that. Just ready to sink into the feeling that things began to feel like they might okay. _They_ might be okay.

_Until…_

Another case. A peculiar one about a man who could make it rain. _Sort of._ The particulars were not relevant here. What was, was that their relationship seemed to be fodder for the folks of the small town they were in. Question upon question about the nature of their bond. Were they together, did they gaze, had they kissed? Then they had to share a room. 

(If this was another story, that one room, and one bed, could have made for a really good time. Not this story, though. Nope.)

Scully was in the shower when her phone rang. A number came up on her cell screen Mulder didn’t recognise. He picked it up and studied it, poised to answer it. Didn’t. He half expected his to ring next. Maybe someone was calling about work. Whoever they were didn’t get hold of Scully, so, next, they would try Mulder. Happened that way all the time. Not this time, though. He looked over at her phone another half a dozen times while she was still in the bathroom. And then it dinged - a text. The water shut off at that precise moment. He went over and picked the phone up, hastily - the beginning of a message, from the same number as before. ‘ _Dana had a g8 time th.._ ’ And that was it. All he could see without actually clicking on the message and unlocking her phone. Which he could have done, they knew each other’s passcodes. Had a great time…, then a T and an H. _The other night_? Or, great time, _thankyou_? 

Mulder was still holding her phone when she came out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. Pyjamas and robe on, a towel wrapped around her head. He immediately looked up; she was focused on her hands, rubbing moisturiser into them as he put her phone down and backed away from it.

“Good shower?” he asked, not very casually.

She looked up at him. “Yeah, no cows came through the roof.”

“Ha,” he chuckled. “Um, I charted us a flight out at ten.”

“Good,” she replied with no further acknowlegdement as she picked up her phone. Clicked a few buttons.

He eyed her the entire time. Watched as the corners of her mouth twitched up.

Unless cabs were involved, they always drove one another home from the airport. So, when Scully gave him a quick, albeit friendly, goodbye when they landed, he was a little perplexed. Perhaps he hovered, or just happened to see, or maybe he followed her. In any case, Scully receiving a peck on the lips, in the pick-up zone at arrivals, from a tall, brown-haired stranger, felt like a sledgehammer had hit him upside the head.

For a moment, he thought of following her, following them. Quickly erased that and headed to his car to go home instead.

But ended up at a bar.

Then found himself at the threshold of a door at stupid o’clock. Hesitated for a split second and then knocked, half hoping she wasn’t there. Head and heart in competition, the rum coursing through his veins; winning.

Footsteps inside, then a strip of light flicked on, illuminating his shoes.

The door cracked open.

“Fox?”

He nodded as he pushed past her into her apartment. Turned and spun to look at her confused expression.

“Fox?” She said again. “What is it?”

Had he been standing in front of Scully; he would have cried. Let go and crumpled to the floor, ready for her to drape herself over him and rub his back until he felt okay.

But he was standing in front of Diana. A woman whom he thought had broken his heart. He had since realised that you had to have been in love to have your heart broken. Retrospectively, it was a bad relationship. After he had regression therapy, that she encouraged, he was vulnerable, and she was there. Let him cry on her shoulder. Evidently believed, along with him, that his sister had been abducted from right in front of him, by aliens. An off-balance, co-dependant relationship, of neediness and enabling. There was not much in it for her, he deuced. And it had become a disaster for him. He was all too aware that she sought out a transfer to get away from him. From what they had become.

Eyes unfocused in the dim light of her living room, swagging slightly in the breezy haze of alcohol and jealously and regret, he needed again. Needed to fuck Scully, by fucking Diana.

So, he did. Kissed her hard. For a moment, he felt her push back on his shoulders - was preparing to leave. Then she grabbed him. Kissed him back - just as hard. He bent her over the sofa. Took what he came for her. Kissed her cheek and left.

Not a word.

Blurry devasted tears in the car his whole drive home.

…

Life trudged on. He stayed late in the bullpen - dodged calls from Diana.

Having had a woman _that_ way, just brought into acute focus how much he only wanted one woman. And he had fucked up. Recalled a conversation one night, another night he dragged her from her life just to have her by his side, while he chased down a - _honestly, who knows what?_ It didn’t matter. She had asked something, asked him if he ever wanted to stop and get out of the damn car. Have a life. He didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to change a thing. Only realised after that the reason he wanted to stay in that car, or one like it, was because of who was in the passenger seat beside him.

It dawned on him that Scully had gotten out of the car.

A small, tiny, part of himself wanted her to have that life. For her to have her dreams come true. A more substantial, selfish part - didn’t. Didn’t want to be left behind. If she indeed got out of the car, he wanted to too.

He was sad. More than sad, anxious and devastated. He had no idea what to do, how to fix any of it. So, he went to throw himself into his work, only to come up short. Didn’t even have that anymore. Then, Scully was put on another case. With another agent. In New York. Despite her assuring him they weren’t being split up, he felt that she was slipping away from him.

And then, she very nearly did - slip away from him for good, out of this life. _Again._ Shot, on assignment. Without him there.

He flew to be by her side, to hold onto her hand in the hospital. To thank his lucky stars she didn’t die. He didn’t understand how she didn’t die, and gratitude settled over him - a great need for Scully to be alive and happy in this world.

He loved her and decide that he should set her free.

Very nearly dying, for a third _(or fourth or fifth?)_ time brought things into acute focus. Scully didn’t love Carl. She would never love Carl. Didn’t want to be with him. She wanted Mulder or no-one. Mulder flew immediately to be by her side in the hospital. Held her hand and caressed and kissed her forehead. Made her laugh and brought all of the little things he knew she liked. Yogurt and bee pollen. Gum and Evian. Despite her insides having just been dug into and sewn up, a heat she had ignored for a while, stirred there once again. From Mulder’s touch. A fire. An ache.

She broke up with Carl over the phone from her hospital bed.

…

Oh, the push and pull, pull and push of these too.

A familiar X-Filey type pursuit drew them in once again. One very close to them. The return of a woman named Cassandra. A very personal case to Scully, and by extension, Mulder - another time he nearly lost her.

The fragments of their current pursuit were coming together like the pieces of their fractured relationship. With a joint quest for answers in their collective back pockets, their stride hit a familiar simpatico. With it, a closeness and noticeable affection.

Their equilibrium felt restored. For a couple of days, until -

Diana Fowley.

Diana Fowley and the cavalry in hazmat suits - flashlights and raised guns.

How the two of them found themselves naked and showering together _(almost together)_ , for Scully was virtually unforgivable. Mulder defending Diana actions though - _entirely_ unforgivable.

That was a hole he continued to dig, in The Lone Gunmen’s headquarters, when he dismissed the evidence Scully presented to him about Diana. She made it perfectly clear why Diana was the very last person they should be trusting. At the very least, why Mulder should be suspicious of her. He just got defensive. Told her, basically, to pull her head in.

Scully had to go, get the hell away from him. He had no idea just how fucking personal this whole thing was to her. She was seething. When she got outside to her car though, she waited for him. After fifteen or so more minutes she was about to leave when he emerged, walked up to his vehicle, beside Scully’s—confused to see her still there.

“Mulder, I just … I’ve been thinking.” She wanted to say what she had to say, without crying, so it all came out in anger. “I couldn’t figure out why you keep trusting that woman…”

“That woman?” Mulder’s arrogance was heaving on his tongue.

“Yes. That woman. But - I get it now - you’re thinking with your dick.”

“My _dick_? Scully? Did you really just talk about my dick?” He huffed a laugh. Grinned, unpleasantly at her.

“Well, it sure doesn’t seem like your brain is in control here, Mulder.” He was staring at her. Eyes boring in, not answering. His bemused expression, laced with a tinge of disdain pushed her to keep going. “I know about your past with her. So …”

His brow lifted, and he scoffed. “Don’t hurt yourself jumping to conclusions there, Dana.”

Dana, coming from Mulder that way, like a punch in the gut.

“Well. You’re not saying anything to make me think otherwise. So…”

“Are you jealous, Scully?’ he goaded.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she practically spat. “I think, as your partner, I have a right to know the exact nature of your relationship with her.”

“And that is your business, why?” He had a conceited smirk on his face, bile in his voice.

“Because it’s clouding your judgment Mulder, and your choices affect me,” she snapped.

He went to speak. Nothing came out. His silence was all the answer she needed. She got in her car and drove away.

…

Scully missed normalcy. _(Whatever that was.)_ She missed her Dad, her sister, her brother Charlie, who stopped talking to her after her sister’s murder. Mostly she missed her sense of self. She hadn’t realised, until the moment in the Gunmen’s office with Mulder, how much of her life was wound around him. Around her trust in him. Her faith that he would always have her back. Would always be there. Cue an old lover of his, and poof. Gone.

She was determined to ignore her feelings, get back to work and prove to herself that she had not wrapped her entire identity around Mulder. Scully enjoyed the cases they took, enjoyed her work. And she was resolute to find that again, despite him.

Mulder knew he’d fucked up. Though he wasn’t convinced of Scully’s profile of Diana’s motivations, he knew he’d dismissed Scully’s dedication to him. Shat all over it. He was preparing for her to tend her resignation so, when he called her to accompany him to a case down in Florida, he expected she’d tell him where to shove it. That she didn’t, made him realise he was being arrogant to assume the only reason she was on the X-Files was him. Not a thought that she had her own reasons for being there. He decided he would shut up and be on his best behaviour. He wanted to get back to their ease and harmony.

A sea creature almost killing Mulder did not provoke the usual affection from Scully. She saved his life but didn’t linger in their customary space of intimacy, after.

Another few cases went by. Playing house undercover; Scully melted a little - but the ire was there, simmering. A killer dog. A man who could walk through walls _(apparently)_.

Some of their old synchronicity had crept back in.

…

Then, they found their way to the case where that statement was uttered, by a suspected serial killer in a holding cell - “ _Agent Scully is already in love._ ”

.

Blood on the rug. Her body; motionless. Smashing through his door - fear. Ice cold terror. A crash, when he fell to his knees beside her. And then a sharp intake of breath followed by uncontrollable sobs and desperate clinging. She was alive. Her nails clawed and slid across the fabric, drawn taut across his back.

.

It had been three days since Mulder had been confronted with his ostensibly dead partner, supine on his living room floor. Surrounded by, and covered in, what had since been confirmed as her blood.

After her sobbing had waned, he unfurled her arms from his shoulders and laid her back down. Hastily called 911. Police? Ambulance? _Both._ He undid her bloody buttons as she watched him with a distant shock-laced expression. Tentatively, he felt the length of her sternum, smearing blood across her abdomen. Fingers over her bra, under her bra, across her chest. _Everywhere._ Sat her up and pushed her blouse and jacket from her shoulders, held her close with one arm, as he palpated over her back with his other hand, looking for any signs of injury. None.

.

Scully drove Mulder back to his place after work. The past few nights he’d slept at a hotel. His apartment treated as a crime scene. Months ago, before Diana, he would have stayed with Scully. On her sofa. But she didn’t offer, and he didn’t ask. Once they pulled up to his curb, he requested she come up with him, so she did. Thought maybe it was to participate in a sort of exposure therapy of his concoction.

They silently walked through his door, Mulder ushering Scully first, his hand on her lower back, steering her over the spot where it happened. His rug no longer there.

“You okay?” He ventured.

She turned back to him. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Do … do you want a beer?”

“Um,” she paused in thought. She did want a beer. She wanted a beer and take-out and pizza and movie and their old rapport. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks.”

Sitting on his familiar leather couch, while he fetched drinks, she thought more about going back - _their old rapport_. A place where they were comfortable. She wasn’t so sure she wanted _comfortable_ anymore.

“Here you go.” He sat down, handed her an opened beer and offered his to clink. She did. “To surviving death, yet again Scully.” His voice was soft and earnest. He sat close to her.

They drank side by side—the gurgling of the fish tank a gentle accompaniment to their comfortable silence.

“Scully?”

Her eyebrows raised. “Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” she faltered, “um, okay.”

Nodding towards the wall he shared with the neighbouring apartment; he asked, “why’d you go next door. With … _him_?” He was careful not to say Padget, the serial killer suspect’s name.

She let out a deep breath. Swallowed, focusing on her beer she began “I, um… I was curious,” She looked up at him - excepted judgment, instead she saw concern, care. A soft, gentle Mulder saved for hospital bedsides. So, she told him—the truth. “I liked the attention,” she admitted. “I can’t… I can’t quite explain it.”

“It just seemed so unlike you, that’s all.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do Mulder.” She waited for him to respond to that statement. He didn’t vocally, just twisted into her a little more so she contuned. “It’s nice to be desired. It is was like Padget wrote I guess. _Flattering_. I was flattered.” He still didn’t say anything, so she tried to explain further; that it wasn’t about Padget. “It’s not often I get to feel like a _woman_. To feel … _desired_. Boring suits. Crime scenes.” She exhaled deeply, trying to peter out the emotion sitting just under her surface. “I’m embarrassed that he sucked me in.” 

He gently placed a hand on her knee. Consoled her. “Don’t be.” And then pressed, “so, was he right about anything else?”

“What do you mean?” she questioned. “You mean … what he wrote in his book? I didn’t have sex with him if that’s what you’re asking.” Her voice had an edge.

“No. No, not in his book. Something he said…” Mulder replied, trying not to antagonise her.

“What?”

“What he said in his cell. About having made a mistake writing his book… _because_ …”

Scully caught on. Knew what he wanted to know. She felt hot and suddenly paniked as she slowly began to stand, looking over at his door.

“Scully?” He grabbed her hand.

All she wanted was to leave. To get away from him. Or herself? _The truth?_

“Tell me, Scully,” he implored, just as her fingers slipped from his and she hastened to his door. “What did he mean,” he called after her, “ _‘Agent Scully is already in love’_?”

She could almost hear him swallow hard after the last words spilled from his mouth.

She stopped.

Rooted to the spot.

Feared running out the door and away from his question would answer it.

She was desperate to move. To get as far from her feelings as her legs and her denial would carry her. The reality of the moment, this confession he was asking her, it was too much.

But her legs betrayed her. Didn’t move her forward. Didn’t take her through the door and down his hall faster than he could catch her.

“What, Mulder?” Exasperation pushed at her voice. She turned. Found his eyes. “What do you want me to say?”

He stood slowly. The leather of his lounge creaking at the loss of him. “I just want you to tell me the truth.” His eyes were soft. And even though his words were demanding an answer, she felt nothing demanding about his countenance. “Are you?”

She closed her eyes. They stung behind her lids. _How could she get out of there?_

Why was he being so brazen, actually asking her if she was in love with him?

_How dare he!_

She knew he would see through a lie, so she he could say nothing or tell him the truth. She feared the end result would be one and the same. _Agent Scully is already in love_ … with her partner. _Shit!_

She opened her eyes but didn’t look. Couldn’t speak the truth and witness his panic at her admission. “Yes,” filled the space. Hung in the air between them before he spoke.

“Oh,” was all he said—a complete sentence.

She slowly looked up to him, up to face the music. The music to the tune of, ‘ _I just fucking told my work colleague that I’m in love with him – and now I’m fucked._ ’ 

Her mouth fell open slightly and furrows crinkled into her brow when he asked her, somewhat hesitantly, “so, who is he?”

She couldn’t comprehend what he’d said. Couldn’t seriously imagine he’d be asking her with whom she was in love… “What?”

“The guy?”

“What guy?”

“He picked you up from the airport, after the Holman Hardt case?”

“You saw that?” He nodded. “Mulder, that was just a guy I said yes to going on a few dates with.”

“A few dates? Who is he?” Mulder said, demanding, all at once.

“Just a guy I know from Quantico.”

“He asked you out?” She nodded. “When?”

She took a breath. Calmed her voice. “Mulder, do you have any idea how many times I get asked out?”

He was visibly shocked. “What? You do? I, I’ve never … I didn’t know.”

“Do you really think they’re going to do it in front of you?” He looked crushed. She softened slightly, “look, I’ve never said yes. To any of them. And dating Carl reminded me of why.”

“What? Why?”

“Of all of the people, you are the only one I don’t have to explain it to Mulder. Our job. I can’t date and work on the X-Files. They are … mutually exclusive.”

He was nodding at her in understanding. Remained in front of his spot by the couch.

“So … not in love with — _Carl_?” Mulder said his name, deliberately.

“No,” she shook her head.

“Did you sleep with him?” he blurted.

“What?” she said, irritation creeping in.

He squared up, waiting for an answer.

“Did you fuck Diana?” she retaliated.

They each knew the answer to both of those questions was the same. And it hurt.

The air between them was thick, and they were locked, fixed in one another’s glares. The electricity swirling in the room could have been a prelude to a fistfight or a passionate kiss.

“It didn’t mean anything. Diana.”

She bit her lip, desperate to bite back the wretched jealously rising in her throat.

“When I saw you with… that guy at the airport and… I just … I got drunk.” She flashed him a glare. He tried again, “I made a mistake.” 

She started to back away from him, to turn for the door. “I’m sorry.” Deflated. Dejected. “I’m going to leave now.”

He tried again.

“You haven’t answered my question, Scully. _Who,_ then?” He took another few steps towards her.

 _Who fucking else, Mulder?_ She screamed in her head. He had to know. He had to know it was him she was in love with. How could he not know?

She gave him a look. One of her, if looks could kill, specials. A hot strap of anger began to bind her chest. He was teasing her, playing with her. There was no way he didn’t know it was him. She wasn’t up for his dance. And she knew no more words would come out without the accompaniment of stupidly fucking tears.

“Goodbye,” she managed. Turned on her heel and did her best to swallow the emotion that threatened to erupt. She made it to the door, drew her hand up to grasp the handle … but he was right there. His arm shot between her elbow and her body. Grabbed the knob before she had a chance to register him there, close behind her.

“Scully? Tell me,” he begged.

She was shaking her head. As much as she loved him, the overwhelming feeling toward him at that moment was hatred. No, too strong. She was fucking pissed, though.

Her only response, a heavy panting, a heave and hot tears trailing down her cheeks; her desperate attempts to dam them futile. Mulder had trapped her between himself and his door. Trapped her between what might lie beyond her words of truth, and the lonely place of denial. The pounding of her heart was all she could hear. Maybe she could confess, and he wouldn’t be able to discern the words over the deafening beats - then she could escape.

She couldn’t tell how long they had stood there. Long enough to feel his heat sinking into her back. His hot sweet breath on the nape of her neck. His hand still white knuckled over the doorknob.

She squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mouth.

“You.” A breath. A whisper. A prayer.

She let her head fall forward and bump onto the door. Her breathing heavy. For a fleeting instant she was safe in the space between her confession and his reaction.

Then she felt like she might faint. Or be sick.

She heard a dull thud. Once she felt his arms wrap tightly around her, she understood the noise was him dropping to his knees behind her. Hands moved up under the fabric of her blouse, held onto the bare flesh of her waist. Her breath caught as she felt the side of his face press onto her arse.

“Scully.” He breathed. “Oh, Scully.” She felt him loosen his grip, move his hands down to land on her hips as he gently twisted her, urging her to, “turn around.”

Her forehead was still pressed to his door. Her palms on the wood, holding her in place. Then she submitted. Spun slowly in his hands.

He looked up at her from his position on the floor, still firmly grasping onto her. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, so she used them to cover her face. To try and hide from what she had just admitted. He reached and took one of her in his, revealing her expression. She let her other hand drop, rested in on his shoulder. He brought her hand down to his face and found her palm with his lips. Kissed her there, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Scully?” he said again. A question. She wasn’t sure what he was asking, but she thought she might know the answer.

He held her arm. Kissed his way from her palm, up the inside of her wrist, her forearm. Then across to the front of her pants over her abdomen. He held her hips again. Scully’s hand somehow found its way tangled into his hair. He continued to kiss her stomach, started to move his way down.

“Mm, Scully.” He breathed after taking a deep breath, his nose pressed low over her zipper.

Scully allowed her other hand to run through his hair too. She couldn’t help the thoughts in her head, screaming at her _‘what the fuck was happening?’_

This was not in her plan.

This was not okay.

This felt _fucking amazing._

But…

“Mulder…”

He tore his hot mouth away from its position, over two layers of fabric, but undeniably over her clit.

“Mulder, we shouldn’t be doing this…” _Did she want a pity fuck? Would she allow him to take advantage of her? Was she ready for the actuality of what was going to happen?_

Pity fuck or not, she was the most aroused she had even been in her life.

“Tell me to stop Scully, and I’ll stop,” he professed, kneeling before her.

She covered her face again and willed herself not to cry. Not from sorrow this time though. _Relief?_

Scully bit her lip and Mulder brought his face between her legs again. Wrapped his arms around her backside and pressed his lips over her pussy, through her pants. Nudged her with his nose.

“Mulder…” she warned.

He paused and turned his face up to her. “Tell me to stop,” he almost begged. Hands grabbing her arse, face hovering over her crotch.

Their breaths were matching. No instruction from her for him to cease. He popped the button on her pants, fingers posed at her zip. She watched him, transfixed, as his thumb and index finger conspired to separate each zipper tooth from its counterpart. The undoing punctuated the air. Her hand moved to the back of his head, gently drew him closer—a small but affirmative gesture.

He took it. His mouth covered the fabric of her briefs as her slacks slipped past him and pooled at her feet. He sucked at her through the cotton. Found the valley there and carved a trail. Licked a line. She felt his mouth on her clit, tonguing her, soaking her underwear.

She looked down, feeling a tugging. Mulder pulling the crotch of her underwear down, over to the side, exposing her.

“Oh god,” was uttered from his lips before he settled them over her, kissed her there. Then darted his tongue out, sliced up and down her seam. Splitting her. Then his mouth wrapped around her clit. A hand slid under her underwear, grasped at her bare arse.

It felt like heaven, and she was already in danger of coming undone. A nagging thought pushed through; she didn’t want to him to bring her to orgasm before she’d ever even kissed him.

Scully didn’t speak as she sunk to her knees too, forcing him to abandon his hold of her underwear, her backside. Let no time pass between her knees hitting the threshold and her lips crashing to his. His hands immediately captured her face, and his tongue found a way in. She opened for him, tasted herself as she caressed the nape of his neck, ran her fingers through his hair. Pulling him closer.

They hung on to one another as their bodies pushed and swayed. Scully’s head tilted up, and he embraced with her the back of her head in the crook of his elbow. Their tongues lapped and savoured. Lips bruising, teeth bumping as they explored every part of each other’s mouths.

They kissed and kissed until Scully’s knees hurt.

She let a hand drift from around his shoulder, down. Ran the flat of her palm from just under his sternum. Fingers pointed toward his navel. She pushed pressure into his defined abs and headed towards his groin. Ran her palm over his pants, rubbed him through the denim of his jeans. She felt him, big and hard and twitching under her hand. He pushed his tongue deeper into her mouth at her contact down there. Moaned something she couldn’t understand. She gripped, wrapped around him, as best she could. Ran her hand up and down, pushing the heel of her palm onto him.

He deftly popped his button and undid his fly. Broke apart as he pushed the waistband of his jeans down. Her hand dipped into his boxers as he roughly pulled the sides of her blouse apart. Pushed her bra cup under her breast, bent over and took her nipple in his mouth, began to suck and nip as she firmly gripped his cock and started to tug and pull. They were in a frenzy on his hardwood floor. Bodies writhing and swaying and moaning.

He suddenly knelt up. Cupped her face in his hands. “Scully. I don’t want to fuck you on the floor of my apartment. I mean, I do want to fuck in on the floor of my apartment. But, first,” he stopped to catch his breath. “This first time … I want to make love to you in my bed.”

She nodded. Smiled gently at him. Let him draw her to her feet. They discarded their partially removed clothing, and he led her to his bedroom.

They made love. Slow and deliberate, and it felt bigger than both of them. They charted one another’s bodies with their fingers and mouths and hungry eyes. Marvelled at how normal it all felt—being that way with one another. Finally.

After, laying in his bed, a twist of limbs and exposed skin and satiated smiles, Mulder traced the features of her face. Her brow, nose, cheekbone. Drew his finger slowly over her lips.

“Hey Scully,” he said, grinning at her, “I think I found a solution.”

Her brows crinkled; a curious smile adorned her lips. “To what?”

“To not being able to date.”

She tilted back from him, hand to his chest. Cocked a brow. “Yes?” she pressed.

“Just date someone else who works on the X-Files.” His eyes were twinkling.

She kissed him. Held his face in her palm, drew back to regard him.

“Hmmm. There is this one guy who works in my department. He’s pretty cute too. Yeah. I might think about asking him out.”

“You should. He’s in love with you.”

She sighed. Relief and adoration and love washing over her.

They kissed again. Made love again.

They didn’t know where the future would take them, at that moment, though, it didn’t matter.

…

Shit would always happen to these two. It was like they had their own personal, malevolent God trying to fuck things up. But, they would always find their way back. Back to each other. And they would be okay.

**~The End~**

**Author's Note:**

> This was my prompt:  
> I'm a super for Diana angst so giving you free rein on this one. But at the same time, I'd like to see Mulder and Scully resolve their fight, either UST or RST...RST is preferred.
> 
> Late S5/FTF/S6
> 
> Feel free to do smut but I also adore hurt/comfort. I just love Diana induced angst into the MSR dynamic.
> 
> Comments always welcome.


End file.
